Breathing Lessons
by GentleReader
Summary: David and Maddie take Lamaze classes, prepare for parenthood...and try to rebuild their relationship along the way.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: For entertainment only. These characters don't belong to me, but sprung from the mind of the insanely talented Glenn Gordon Caron.

Author's Note: Takes off from the end of "And the Flesh Was Made Word"; as I'm sure you ML fans will recognize, the beginning of the Prologue is a transcript of the final scene of that episode. Hope you enjoy…reviews welcomed and appreciated!

**Breathing Lessons**

**Prologue**

David stood in Maddie's office doorway. "You sign up for any Lamaze classes yet?" he asked.

She smiled and scrambled among the papers on her desk. "Oh—yeah—actually, there _was_ one in here I was looking at"—she consulted a brochure—"Tuesdays at nine?"

"Eight central time?" he quipped.

"Yeah, something like that."

David flipped open his calendar. "OK, nine to ten, Tuesdays, you and me." He looked up at her. "You're probably gonna want to get some dinner or something beforehand, right?"

"That'd be nice," she assented.

He erased his previous entry. "OK, 7:30 to ten. You and me. Tuesdays…And you're probably gonna want to talk or something afterwards, right?"

"Well, if you can spare the time."

He erased again. "OK. So that's 7:30 to midnight, you and me, Tuesdays." He smiled. "I guess we can figure out when we're gonna get together and practice some other time, huh?"

She smiled back at him. "Yeah, we can work that out."

"It's getting late…you leaving soon?"

"Yeah, in a minute," she replied.

"Well, if you wanted me to walk you and the Little Dividend down to the parking structure, I'd be…honored." He stuck his pencil behind his ear and closed his calendar.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

* * *

From the office door all the way to Maddie's car, David kept up a stream of small talk: a tidbit about John Wicklow being released, a story about last night's bowling triumph, the latest battle in the MacGillicudy-Viola Conflict. Maddie chuckled appreciatively but both understood why he kept talking: their silences were still too fraught with tension and the possibility of anger.

She unlocked her door and turned to David. "Are you going straight home? Do you want me to drop you—" she broke off and stifled a huge yawn behind her hand. "I'm sorry—I just seem to get tired so early these days."

David started to decline the ride, but then took a closer look at her: she did, indeed, look exhausted. Putting an arm around her shoulders, he steered her over to the passenger side door and opened it.

"David, what are you doing?" she protested. "I'm perfectly capable of driving myself." Nonetheless, she slid into the passenger seat.

"Chauffeur service," he replied, taking the keys from her hand. He went around to the driver's side and got in. "Recently added to the Blue Moon Executive Package. I drop you off, and then pick you up in the morning…say, nineish?" He grinned across at her.

She seemed about to protest when another yawn overtook her. "OK, fine," she sighed, settling back into the leather seat. "Actually, this is…nice," she admitted as she closed her eyes.

"Ol' Driver Dave, at your service." He tipped an imaginary hat to her.

Moments later, she was asleep.

Stopped at a traffic light, he stole a glance at her. He thought of the hope that lit up her eyes when he asked her about the Lamaze classes, and his heart tightened. He remembered a few nights before, up on that bridge, trying to keep Mary Graves from killing herself. _"You've got to get past your past…the future is the only thing that counts," _he had said—and he had meant it, especially when Maddie kissed him.

But was it true? He had been angry, so angry, for months. Not just angry: devastated, disappointed, lonely, frustrated. After two and a half years, he had finally let himself love her, had risked her rejection and her ridicule. In the laundromat, he laid it out for her: _Don't end it. Let's keep trying. I love you, Maddie_. And still, she hopped the next flight to Chicago.

He could have forgiven her that, forgiven her the confusion, the fear, the uncertainty that drove her away and kept her there. What he couldn't forgive was that she cut him off, cut him out of her life so totally—no phone calls, no letters. The message, he thought, was clear: _You were a mistake. I can live without you._

Never more so than when she came home married to somebody else. _None of this makes sense…the baby's not mine, you're not mine, _he had told her. He had been ready to get up and walk away, for good.

And then she changed her mind.

That had made him angry, too. She was still calling the shots, she was still in control—and _his_ feelings, what _he_ had gone through, came second. It was as though she expected him to come running back, as soon as the coast was clear; as though they could just pick up from…well, wherever it was they had left off.

So he let her have it: _If a guy did what you did to me, I'd have knocked his teeth down his throat. You still have your incisors, so I guess that means I still must care. But I don't have to like it._ She sat silent through it all and took it; she didn't protest, and she didn't cry. But the pain in her eyes was obvious.

He had felt a little cleansed after that, like he had let go of a small part of the constant ache inside him. And, God help him, he wanted to try—wanted to see if, maybe, they _could_ start again—not from where they were before, but from where they were now. But it wasn't going to happen overnight.

Running a hand through his hair, he shook away his thoughts as they pulled up to the house. "Hey, Sleeping Beauty, we're home," he whispered as her eyes blinked open. He grabbed her briefcase from the back seat and came around to help her out.

"David," she said, obviously embarrassed, "This really isn't necessary."

"Part of the service," he replied. "Door-to-door delivery is included." He set her briefcase down by the front door.

"Well…" she said, as he put the key in the lock.

"Well," he answered.

She leaned forward and kissed his cheek, then whispered, "Thanks for the ride." Her lips brushed his earlobe, and David could feel his pulse quicken. All his senses were suddenly on red alert.

She stayed there, close to him, and David's arms went around her, seemingly of their own accord. Her eyes met his and he could see the unmistakable invitation in them.

He was tempted…he was _so_ tempted. God, it had been five months, but in that instant he remembered exactly the feel of her skin and the way she moved. He crushed her to him, burying his face in her hair. Then—

"Gotta go," he said softly, and stepped back.

"OK, go," she answered. But he could hear the disappointment in her voice.

He touched two fingers to his lips, and then walked quickly to the car. He heard the front door close behind her as he got into the BMW.

He loosened his tie and cranked up the tunes, trying to drive the feel of her out of his mind.

* * *

Maddie leaned against the door. _What in the world was that?_ she thought. Had David just turned her down? She wondered briefly if Hell was freezing over.

She knew he was having a tough time getting past these last few months, and she couldn't blame him. He was holding back—had been since she signed the annulment papers—but she had hoped, after his declaration on the bridge, that they were moving on.

Not yet, apparently.

It occurred to Maddie as she climbed the stairs that perhaps he wanted to be chased. After all, he had been the pursuer for nearly three years, had not only learned what drove her crazy and what made her laugh, the garbage and the good stuff, but had played the game with a degree of patience and perseverance she never would've given him credit for.

Then finally, victory—of a sort. A month of holding her in thrall physically, while emotionally she fought to keep him at arm's length. It felt schizophrenic: at night, she surrendered, and they found each other amidst the whisperings and rustlings. But during the day, she walled herself off, from fear or shame or a need for control. By the end of the month, she was exhausted and worse, disappointed—in herself, in them, in the promise of the last three years of friendship and flirtation.

So she ran.

She ran, slamming door after door behind her: I'm in Chicago, don't call me, don't come here, I'm married, it's not yours.

Was it any wonder he wasn't eager to jump back in? Was it surprising if he was waiting for her to come to him this time, waiting to understand where _she_ stood, waiting for _her_ to "speak now, or forever hold her peace"?

She sat down in front of her mirror, brushing out her hair with long strokes. She had always liked a challenge: she, a 36-year-old woman, five months pregnant with another man's child, would have to seduce a man she had discarded like yesterday's newspaper. If she wanted David, she was going to have to go out and get him.

She smiled to herself for the first time that night. Climbing into bed, she snapped the lamp off with a definite 'click.'

He wouldn't know what hit him.


	2. Week One: Introductions

**Week One: Introductions**

David breezed into Maddie's office and stopped short. She was standing by the bookcase; a dress, red and clingy, hugged her curves, and her hair fell softly around her face.

"Hey, Addison—jaw off the floor," she said, noting his shocked look. "We have rules about that here, you know. What have you got?" she asked him, referring to the file in his hand.

"What are you _wearing_?" He indicated the dress.

"Oh, this?" She looked down. "Well, you know it's tradition for a divorcée to go out and get herself a new wardrobe. Now that I'm back on the market, so to speak."

"I thought you were an 'annullée'—and I didn't realize you _were_ 'back on the market'." He was uncomfortably aware that she looked…amazing.

"Fielding offers, remember? Oh—speaking of offers—I don't suppose there's any way you'd want to go to that P.I. Association Dinner tonight…Bert was itching to go, but Agnes' mother is coming into town."

"Are you wearing that?"

She shrugged. "Guess so."

"Then I'd better go with you. Those P.I. dogs can be pretty aggressive."

"Oh, my hero," she said sarcastically. "Now, what's in the file, Dudley Do-Right?"

He sat down and opened the file in his lap. "This just might be the easiest money we've ever made."

"Really?" Maddie said skeptically. "Easier than ECAC? The Santa Hotline? Babysitting a dead body?"

"Better," David replied. "You know that up-and-coming pop star, Misty Winkley?"

"Has she played the Stardust Lounge lately?" David shook his head. "Then no."

"Aw, c'mon, Maddie, you must've heard her stuff on the radio: 'Downtown Boy,' 'I Go Halfway,' 'That Guy on Mulberry Street'…All the kids go nuts for her. Apparently, she's huge in Asia." He held up a picture of a young girl wearing a micromini dress and leggings. Her head, tilted to one side, sprouted a long brown ponytail; she looked about 14, but her bedroom eyes and the provocative way she was sucking on a lollipop made Maddie hope she was much older.

David glanced at the photo before putting it back in the file. "All the 'kids', huh?" Maddie said with distaste. "So what does this Lolita want with Blue Moon?"

"She's heading out on an international concert tour next week. She wants us to keep tabs on her boyfriend…apparently, she's the jealous type."

Maddie brightened. "So we just have to follow the boyfriend? She'll be…out of the country?"

"Yep, that's about the size of it."

David leaned back, waiting to hear, "We are NOT taking this case." He had his counter-arguments ready.

"Are you sure you want to take this case, David? It seems a little…sleazy."

Wait—where was the battle? The power struggle? The part where she pulled rank on him? A little bewildered, he replied, "Sleazy is as sleazy does, Maddie. And she's willing to pay us $100,000 for a two-month retainer."

Maddie's eyebrows shot up. "You'd better brief Mr. Viola."

* * *

That had been two weeks ago. Today, David found himself staring at his calendar. Today was Tuesday. Tonight was Tuesday night—_the_ night.

Their first Lamaze class.

Why was he so apprehensive? He knew the drill here. Though he hadn't quite come through as a coach for Terri's labor, he felt reasonably confident that he could do better for Maddie; at the least, he thought he could promise her no unexpected third—or fourth—parties in the delivery room.

But doing this with Maddie felt totally different from doing it with Terri. Yes, he and Terri had gotten close—almost too close—but he had never felt attached to her child, as adorable as Little Wally was.

But Maddie's child…he couldn't explain it, but he felt compelled to do everything in his power to ensure that this baby arrived safely and as peacefully as possible. Maybe it was because he still loved her (yes, he admitted it, if only to himself), and therefore loved her child. But somehow—it felt like more than that, some mysterious connection.

Then, too, if they stuck to the 7:30-midnight "schedule" he had written in his calendar, this would be the longest block of time they had spent alone together since she came back.

In the last two weeks, they had started to see each other outside of work. These "dates" had all been initiated by Maddie, starting with the P.I. dinner where they made merciless fun of the Philip Marlowe-themed evening. Though her invitations were always offhand ("Feel like getting a bite to eat?"), David could tell she was putting a lot of thought into them. She had surprised him one night by taking him to Tommy's, the legendary local burger dive. Watching the elegant Maddie Hayes wolf down a chili cheeseburger would definitely rank among his favorite G-rated memories. Then, one Sunday morning, she had called him. "Meet me downstairs," she said. She had taken him to the grocery store, filling the cart with jelly doughnuts, pretzels, beer and chocolate milk…and dropped him off afterward, without even coming in.

She played it casual, keeping the conversation easy, and _never_ bringing up their relationship or asking him how he felt. They still disagreed about cases, she still rolled her eyes at his banter and bad puns, but the iciness was largely gone.

Physically, however, she had kept her distance. She hadn't made a "move" since that night at her front door. Instead, she fed his attraction with her new style; she was wearing her pregnancy more proudly too, which made her even sexier. When she was in the room, David couldn't take his eyes off her.

"Ready, Coach?" She leaned against his doorway, dressed in a pink sweater that played up the gold in her hair. Her tone was light, but there was heat in her look. Somehow, he thought their physical détente couldn't last much longer.

They went to dinner first, as planned, at a nondescript Italian place near the hospital where the class was being held. Looking at her across the red-checkered cloth, he felt like a teenager. He found himself trying to impress her with his stories, each a taller tale than the next.

"Did I ever tell you about Richie and his pencil scheme?" Maddie shook her head. "So he was in seventh grade…he thought he could make a few bucks selling 'self-correcting' pencils to the third graders—he figured they'd buy anything they thought would help them cheat on tests. He made the mistake of selling one to Danny McFarlane…he'd been left back twice—he was as big as Richie, and probably almost as smart…So it's six o'clock, and Richie still hasn't come home, and my mother's having a conniption…finally, Sister Cornelia calls and says she found him tied up under the altar table in the chapel."

"Sounds like he hasn't changed much," said Maddie, when she had stopped laughing.

"Hey—you sure you're not eating for three or four?" he teased, as she forked up yet another bite of pasta.

"Are you saying I'd better watch my girlish figure?"

"Nah—that's my job," he said, reaching for the bread at the same time she did. Their hands collided, and she playfully slapped his away. But he caught her fingertips and brought them to his lips. Then he turned her hand over, kissing her palm. Their eyes caught and held; Maddie didn't take her hand away, nor did he release it. The room suddenly seemed very, very warm.

Damn. He hadn't meant to do that.

* * *

Maddie allowed herself a small sigh of relief. They had made it through the first class without any untoward incidents.

The instructor had turned out to be none other than Nurse Bridges. She had recognized David and asked him about Terri; then it was time for class to start.

"OK, if everyone will take a seat, we'll get started," Nurse Bridges instructed. When they had all found chairs, she continued, "The purpose of this class is to prepare you for one of the most amazing experiences of your life…welcoming your child into the world. In the next eight weeks, we'll talk about the labor process, breathing techniques, pain management, and the role of the coach. Before we get to all that, though, I'd like you to introduce yourselves."

A slight, brown-haired man in a plaid shirt went first. "I'm Stan, and this is my wife, Laura," he gestured to a blonde woman in a smocked blouse. He patted his wife's belly with a proprietary air. "This is our first little miracle…it's a girl!" He and Laura shared a rather sickening glance; Maddie feared they might rub noses.

Next came a statuesque black woman and her equally tall husband. "Hi, I'm Angela, and this is Rick. This is our first baby too, and I'm hoping we're going to learn a lot about our pain options. Otherwise"—she glanced at her husband affectionately—"I'm afraid I'll kill him."

Everyone laughed and they proceeded around the room. Most of them were having their first child, a few their second. One enterprising couple, a big, beefy man and his amazingly tiny wife, was having their fifth baby but thought they would take the class because "what the hell—the insurance is paying for it." Other than David and Maddie, everyone was married.

When it was almost their turn, Maddie whispered to him, "You do it—you've been here before."

"Nah, you go ahead."

"No, you!" she protested.

"No, _you_!" he said, and looked up to find the whole class waiting expectantly.

Maddie glared at David briefly, then plastered on a smile. "Hello," she said, through her teeth. "I'm Maddie Hayes, and this is my…partner, David Addison."

"Is this your first pregnancy?" prompted Nurse Bridges.

"Oh—yes—my first baby," Maddie nodded, one hand on her belly.

"And what number's _he_ on?" joked the beefy guy, provoking general laughter. David glowered at him.

"OK, that's everybody," Nurse Bridges said brightly, eager to stop any conflict before it started. "Let's talk about the stages of labor…"

The next hour was a bit of a blur. Maddie started to feel like she was hyperventilating—whether that was because of the breathing exercises or because it was finally hitting her that she was really going to have to go through labor, she wasn't sure.

Either way, she was grateful for David's presence. The heat between them at the restaurant gave way to a comforting warmth, so that even though Maddie felt panicky, she didn't feel alone.

But now, as David pulled into the driveway, she could feel the tension between them build again. She took his hand as they walked to the front door. "Thanks for tonight," she said as he handed her the keys.

"You tired?" David asked.

"A little…you?" She opened the door and stepped inside.

He was still on the stoop, leaning against the doorjamb. "Maybe a little."

"I thought you had 'til midnight, Cinderella," she mocked.

"Yeah, but if you're tired…" Maddie looked in his eyes and saw the hint of a twinkle there.

"Addison, get in here." He complied, shutting the door behind him. "And make yourself useful—get me a cup of tea, won't you?" she commanded, walking into the living room.

By the time he came in with her tea and his beer, Maddie had lit a fire, taken off her shoes, and curled up on the couch, a blanket beside her. She drew the line, however, at "slipping into something more comfortable"; if David couldn't read the signs by now, she despaired of him.

"Here you go," he said, handing her the tea as he sat down. He kicked his own shoes off, putting his feet up on the coffee table and leaning his head against the back of the couch.

"David—can I ask you something?" she said, surprising herself. She had been ready to move into seduction mode—where was this coming from?

David looked surprised, too. "Depends," he said cryptically.

Maddie forged ahead. "Why did you sign up for Lamaze with Terri?"

David set down his beer. He hesitated, leaning forward and not looking at her. "I just…wanted to be ready. I didn't know when you were coming home, _if_ you were coming home. I didn't know whether…but I wanted to be ready, just in case."

Maddie felt her eyes fill with tears. Only now was she really understanding what she had put him through: four and a half months, not knowing—anything. And he still kept trying.

What the hell had been wrong with her?

David finally looked at her. "C'mere," he breathed, pulling her over to him. They sat like that for a minute, her head on his shoulder.

"David…maybe it's none of my business, but…did you and Terri ever…?"

Again, he hesitated before he answered. "No. She's a great lady, and a helluva friend. She was somebody I needed at the time—and she needed me…kinda like you and Walter."

Maddie sat up, her fighting instincts roused. "Me and Walter? But _we_ got married! You didn't…propose to her, did you?!"

"Hey, hey, keep your sweater on! Of course I didn't propose to her." His eyes narrowed. "And what about you and Walter? Did _you_ ever…?"

"We had the marriage _annulled_, David." Maddie felt on edge; she sensed he was holding back about Terri. Jealousy punctured her self-confidence, and she gestured to her belly. "Besides, who would want to…"

"Are you kidding?"

She shook her head. "David, it's been weeks since the field was clear. And in all that time, you've never—"

"Are we actually having this conversation?" he interrupted, shaking his head.

Maddie knew she was being irrational. She knew why David hadn't pursued things physically, and it had nothing to do with her pregnancy. She was being an idiot—and, unfortunately, it wasn't the first time.

Suddenly, she felt totally exhausted. She wasn't sure she had the energy to climb the stairs, let alone seduce David and wipe the memory of—something, she was sure—from his mind.

"I'm sorry, David," she said, hands on her forehead. "I must be overtired. I'm going to bed…can you let yourself out?"

She got up from the couch and walked away. At the foot of the stairs, she felt him grab her hand; he spun her back to face him.

"What?" she demanded.

He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, lingering on her cheek, her eyelids, her lips. "Maddie," he breathed into her neck, and she found herself clinging to him, murmuring his name, all thoughts of being the seducer instead of the seducee forgotten.

"There," he panted, breaking away. "See how much I _don't_ want you?"

She grabbed him and kissed him once more—hard. "One for the road," she said. "Sweet dreams."

Then she turned and walked up the stairs. She didn't need to look back to know he was watching her the whole way.

* * *

David drove back to his apartment barely aware of what he was doing. He was still overheated from their encounter by the stairs, and he kept thinking of Maddie's question: _Did you and Terri…?_ He had told her the truth—but not the whole truth.

Maddie had spent the last few weeks trying to put things right between them, playing by _his_ rules, letting herself be vulnerable without asking anything in return. It was her way of saying she was sorry.

But what about him? His diatribe in her office ran through his head: _I'm not the one that left in the middle of the night for Chicago for four and a half months; I'm not the one that met a guy on the train and married him; I'm not the one that divorced him a week later. I got a clean slate, OK? All I did was show up…and wait…and then wait some more._

The trouble was, his slate wasn't exactly spotless. The vision of another blonde, in an unfamiliar bed, rose up before him.

He had felt tormented that day, beyond endurance. Maddie had been gone two weeks…one phone call and then nothing. He got to Blue Moon to find everyone gathered outside her office—she was back—a bolt of joy shot through him and then crashed when he opened the door to find Bert and MacGillicudy. He remembered leaping across her bed to catch her on the phone, and the fury that gripped him as he sat at his desk that night.

And then the bar. Maybe he could erase the last three years. Maybe he could find the old David Addison: the carefree, lady-loving, good-time guy he had been before a former shampoo model upended his world.

Rita gave him what he needed that night—she flirted, she praised, she appreciated. But afterwards, walking down that deserted boulevard, he felt worse, hopelessness and guilt added to his cocktail of hurt and anger.

Two weeks. She had only been gone two weeks, and he had smashed up her car and picked up another woman. If that was how he proved his love, maybe she had been right to run.

Back in the present, David unlocked the door, walking straight through his apartment to the bedroom. He kicked off his shoes, flopped down on the bed, and was asleep within seconds.

He was in a courtroom, on the witness stand. Dressed in a severely cut purple suit, with her hair up, Agnes sat at a table in front of him. He was swearing on a Bible to tell "the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth…so help me God."

Agnes rose and walked toward him. "Mr. Addison, can you tell us why you're here?"

David shook his head. "Nope—I never understand these dream sequences."

"Did you, or did you not, sleep with this woman"—Agnes held up a photograph of Rita—"on the night of May 2nd, 1987?"

"Well, there wasn't a lot of sleepin' going on," David rubbed the back of his neck, "but…yeah."

"And were you, or were you not, in a relationship with _this_ woman"—she held up Maddie's picture—"at the time?"

David was flustered. "Well, yeah…I mean, no."

"You were _not_ in a relationship?"

"No—I don't know. She was gone."

Agnes tilted her head. "Gone, Mr. Addison?"

"Yeah—gone. As in, flew the coop, busted out, did a runner," he said defensively. "And I didn't know when she was coming back."

"I see. And now, Mr. Addison, you are faced with a decision, are you not?"

"A decision?"

"Yes. Whether to tell this woman"—again, she held up Maddie's photo—"about _this_ woman," she finished, again showing Rita's picture.

"Well, I guess…I mean, does she really need to know? It only happened once…it'll never happen again…"

A gavel rapped sharply. "But how can we be sure, Mr. Addison? Sure that nothing like this will _ever_ happen again?" Maddie looked sternly down from her position on the bench. "Jury, may we have your findings, please?"

Bert stood in the corner of the jury box. "We the jury," he intoned, gesturing for the Blue Moon employees to rise, "sentence the defendant, David Addison, to tell her about it…a one, a two, a one two three four!"

The jury broke into song:

Listen boy

Don't want to see you let a good thing

Slip away

You know I don't like watching

Anybody make the same mistakes

I made

Tell her about it

Tell her everything you feel

Give her every reason

To accept that you're for real

Tell her about it

The girl don't want to wait too long

You got to tell her about it

Tell her now and you won't go wrong

You got to tell her about it

Before it gets too late

You got to tell her about it…

David sat up abruptly, rubbing his eyes. "OK, OK!" he said to his subconscious. "I get it! Next time, just send me a black cat or something, willya?" He shuddered at the memory of the staff doing a hack job on one of his favorite artists. Then he rolled over and went back to sleep.

Song Credit:

"Tell Her About It"...Billy Joel


	3. Week Two: Communication

**Week Two: Communication**

Maddie was at her desk, finishing some paperwork, when someone knocked. "Come in," she called.

Bert entered, carrying a thick envelope. "Ms. Hayes? If you have a moment, I wanted to update you on the Winkley case."

She set her pen down. "Of course, Mr. Viola," she said, gesturing for him to sit down. "What's been happening?"

"Well, as you know, Ms. Hayes, I've been following Miss Winkley's paramour—Lance Marmon—for sixteen days. Initially, it was completely uneventful surveillance: he came out of his apartment, walked to the corner diner, ate breakfast, walked to his place of employment—Bangin' Music—"

"I get the picture," Maddie interrupted. "So, has anything developed?"

"Well, I noticed, as the days went by, that Mr. Marmon was looking more and more…depressed, I guess you'd call it. He'd stopped shaving, his clothes were wrinkled—well, _more_ wrinkled than usual—he just seemed like he was dragging himself through the day." Maddie made an impatient gesture, and Bert hurried on, "So finally, I followed him into his shop—surreptitiously, you understand, so as not to give myself away. While I pretended to browse the New Cassette section, I overheard him say to his colleague, 'Two weeks! It's been over two weeks! And she hasn't even _called_ me!'"

"Hmmm…" replied Maddie. "Maybe she decided she didn't want to retain his services—or ours, either."

"But wait, Ms. Hayes! That's not all! You see, that was three days ago. Then yesterday, he walked out of his apartment, and something had changed…he was clean-shaven, wearing a fresh concert T-shirt, and his sneakers were—tied, Ms. Hayes! Tied!"

Maddie sat up. "Oh, good! She must have called!"

"That's what I thought too, Ms. Hayes! I didn't want to follow him into the shop again—too suspicious. So I just waited. This morning, he came out with a spring in his step again…and I snapped these pictures." He handed them to Maddie, one by one.

The first photo showed Lance jogging down the steps. Behind him, a young blonde girl was coming out the front door of his building. In the next photo, Lance and the girl stood on the sidewalk, talking; both were smiling.

"Well…maybe she's just a neighbor," Maddie said. Bert handed her the next picture, which showed Lance kissing the girl for all he was worth. "Or…maybe not."

"I guess Miss Winkley was right to be suspicious," Bert said glumly. "Do you want me to tell Mr. Addison? I think he has the number where she can be reached."

"No, that's all right, Mr. Viola. I'll tell him—as soon as I see him." She took the envelope from Bert, who walked dejectedly out the door.

"The swine sure start early these days," she sighed to herself.

* * *

David checked his watch and decided to take one more lap around the hospital. Then he could slip in, just as class was starting.

It wasn't that he was avoiding Maddie—not at all. He _knew_ he had to tell her about Rita, and he _wanted_ to tell her, especially before they got any…closer. It was just that finding the right time was difficult…and this past week _had_ been busy. He had been out of the office more than he'd been in, and Richie had shown up for the weekend unexpectedly. He really hadn't had a chance to tell her.

Tonight, after class, he would take her back to her place, give her a world-class foot massage, make sure anything breakable was out of reach, and _then_ tell her.

He could hardly wait.

When he walked into class, a little later than he intended, the other couples were already in what Nurse Bridges called "support position": the women lying on their sides, with the men on their knees next to them.

Maddie looked up at him, annoyed. "David, where have you been?" she whispered, as he took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.

"Hey, Dave, you catch the score on the Dodgers game while you were in the waiting room? You won't be allowed to do _that_ on the big day," said the beefy guy.

"Mel! Shhh!" exclaimed his wife, hitting him. For someone so small, she must've packed a good punch. Mel subsided, rubbing his arm.

Nurse Bridges looked around, as if to say, "Finished?" David and Mel nodded penitently. "Tonight we're going to be talking about communication. During labor, it's going to be important that you communicate effectively. Moms, you have to be as specific as you can about what you need; and Coaches, your job is to listen and respond quickly." At this instruction, David shot a sideways glance at Maddie; she caught his eye and hastily looked away. The nurse went on, "Keep in mind that, as labor progresses, it's going to get a lot tougher for Mom to tell you what she needs, so you're going to have to anticipate. The more practice you have now, the better off you'll be on Labor Day." She paused, directing the couples to sit up facing each other.

"Now, we're going to pretend you're in the first stage of labor. Let's do some cleansing breaths together…Good. Moms, you're still able to talk through your contractions and this point, and you'll have some time between them. Guys, you should be trying to keep her from anticipating the pain. OK, here comes a contraction…let's breathe through it together…"

David put a hand on Maddie's knee as they inhaled and exhaled together. "You sound a little like Darth Vader—'Luke, I am your father'…" he whispered. Maddie pursed her lips at him.

"OK, good," said Nurse Bridges. "Now, I'm going to give you a minute to just talk, before we do another. Remember, Dad, you're trying to keep her from tensing up, so keep it light."

"So a guy walks into this bar," David began. Maddie rolled her eyes. "All right, no bad jokes. What do _you_ wanna talk about?" he smirked, stretching his legs out to the side.

Maddie shrugged, but he noticed she looked a little…severe. "I had an interesting meeting with Bert today," she remarked.

"Oh, yeah? And what did Hairy Harry want?"

"He just wanted to fill me in on some things—" she stopped as Nurse Bridges told them to breathe through another contraction.

When they were done, the nurse said, "Let's move on to the second stage of labor. Moms, lay down; Dads in support position. Things are going to get tougher here…"

Nurse Bridges' voice trailed off as David's mind started racing. Bert had "filled her in"…on what? In his panic, David forgot all about the Winkley case; all he could think of was that Bert had been with him that time at Rita's…Bert knew. But he wouldn't…No…Bert looked up to him, idolized him, even! But he had to admit that Bert hadn't seemed very worshipful when David threw him the car keys that night—in fact, he had looked disgusted.

"…two weeks!" Maddie was saying, in between "hee hee hee" breaths. "Gone only two weeks—I can't believe it!"

"Now, ho ho ho," instructed Nurse Bridges.

"Ho ho ho," the class repeated obediently.

"Maddie—" David said hesitantly.

"I mean, is it too much to ask for someone to stay faithful? Out of sight, out of mind…men are oversexed, underdeveloped…ugh!" She threw him a glacial glance. He was sorry, very sorry, that he hadn't told her himself; but on the whole, she was taking it pretty well.

He attempted a calming tone; he knew he'd have to do major penance later—_And you deserve it_, he thought. He just didn't want Stan, Laura, and their "little miracle" getting an earful of his peccadilloes. "I know, Maddie, I know. It was a mistake—a big mistake. But it was only that one time—"

"OK, here comes another one," warned Nurse Bridges.

"One time? Oh…so that makes it okay?" Maddie asked angrily. "And how would you know, anyway?"

Without thinking, David said, "Well, I'm pretty sure I would've noticed if sometime in the last four months I'd…" Around them, a chorus of "hee hee ho" seemed to grow louder. He tried another tack, speaking very low. "Look, Maddie, I should've told you myself—I was gonna tell you…tonight, in fact. I'm just…really sorry—"

Too late, he realized that she was talking about the Winkley case, not about Rita. As his meaning caught up with his words, he saw Maddie's expression move from confusion to suspicion to…shocked fury.

"And we're moving into transition, folks…Dads, you're really going to need to help Mom out here—she's in a lot of pain…"

Maddie stood up. Her face was red, and her eyes shot fire. Looking down at him, she spit out, "David Addison, you are—I can't believe you did this to me!"

Nurse Bridges said uncertainly, "That's very good, Maddie, very natural…Coaches, don't be surprised if Mom gets pretty upset here…"

Maddie turned on her heel and walked out of the room. David stood up and looked at the class, who were watching him raptly. "Uh—yeah—she probably needs a little water after that performance…I'll just make sure she's OK…" He grabbed her purse from the floor and ran after her.

She hadn't gone far—just down the corridor. Her back was to him, but he knew by the set of her shoulders that she was crying. His heart contracted: _Way_ _to go, Addison_, he thought. Walking up behind her, he put his arms around her waist and whispered into her hair, "I _am_ sorry. It wasn't—it didn't—you've gotta understand…"

She pulled his arms away from her and turned around. "I'VE got to understand? Understand what, David? That you LIED to me? That you and Terri really—"

"It wasn't Terri." He didn't know what else to say. "Look, can we go home and talk about this?"

"No. I think we'll talk about it here—right here—before you can think of any more LIES—"

"I didn't lie to you!" he yelled, much louder than he intended. Spotting a door over Maddie's shoulder, he opened it and pulled her inside. It was a supply closet.

Maddie stood there, her arms folded. She had stopped crying, but tears still glistened on her face.

"Look. It was two weeks after you left. You hadn't called, and you didn't want me to call. I didn't know what was going on…if you were ever coming back. And it was before I knew—" _just before_, he thought—"before I knew about the baby."

"Who was she?" Maddie was fighting for control, he could tell. He thought his best bet now was just to be honest and get it over with as quickly as possible.

"She was…just someone I met. I had too many drinks, and…Maddie, the details don't matter. It never happened again."

"So you expect me to believe that your nights of debauchery ended there?" Her voice shook a little.

"That was the first and last 'night of debauchery'," he said. He tried to put his arms around her, but she slapped them down. Her refusal to let him try to comfort her, to let him try to make amends, provoked him—she just didn't get it. She still didn't understand what she had done to him, leaving like that. Sarcastically, he said, "Yeah, it was back on the straight-and-narrow after that. In fact, for four months, I didn't do anything"—his voice rose—"except run _your_ agency, go to bed alone, and get up alone."

"Go to Hell, David Addison," Maddie said each word precisely.

"Fine," he replied, and walked out the door.

* * *

Maddie leaned back against a shelf. Surrounded by bandages and bedpans, she let the tears come again, sinking down onto the top rung of a stepladder.

How could she have been so stupid? How could she have expected David, ol' out-of-sight-out-of-mind Addison, to be faithful to her? A man whose overriding goal in life was to have a good time? The thought of him touching another woman, kissing another woman, made her feel sick. How could she have trusted him with her heart? And how could she be thinking about raising a child with him?

_That isn't fair_, a small voice inside her said. No, it wasn't. She knew he had loved her; she knew, too, that his reputation as a Casanova far outstripped the reality. She remembered his letter to her: _This is all a bunch of crap. I'm miserable, and I want you to come home._ If she had reached out to him then, had called him, had just admitted "I don't know what I'm doing or when I'll be back, but I miss you, too"—it probably would never have happened.

Not that she was solely to blame. David was a big boy, and made his own choices. The bottom line was that they had both made mistakes, but in the scheme of things, she thought, hers outweighed his.

The question was: could either of them—could both of them—get past it and move on?

She sat there a moment, thinking, and then dried her remaining tears with a rough hospital washcloth. Picking up her purse, she walked out of the closet, back to the car.

* * *

Maddie knocked and waited. Then she knocked again, louder. She remembered standing here, all those months ago, dressed almost like she was right now—nightgown, trenchcoat, sneakers. It had taken him forever to answer then too.

She raised her hand to knock a third time and the door swung open. Bleary-eyed, dressed only in half-buttoned jeans, David motioned for her to come in. He didn't seem entirely surprised to see her.

She came to the stairs and stopped in shock. "David…you got furniture!"

"Uh, yeah…yeah, I did." He was shaking his head as if to clear it.

A black leather couch held pride of place; his old trunk was doing temporary duty as a coffee table. There was even—Maddie squinted in the dark—an oriental rug on the floor.

They sat down on the couch. "What's up?" he asked her. "You didn't come here to yell at me some more, did you? 'Cause you coulda done that on the phone."

"Addison…" Her voice held a warning. "No. I didn't." She took a deep breath. "I came to tell you that…if you can forgive me for Sam, then I can forgive you for—her."

David protested slightly. "But we weren't together yet when you and Sam…"

"That's beside the point, David—it hurt you. I knew it would hurt you—I didn't do it for that reason, but I didn't stop it either. The same as with Walter…marrying him, I mean."

"Yeah, I get it. It was the same for me."

Maddie continued, somewhat wistfully, "Remember what you said on the bridge? That the past doesn't matter? Well, it _does_ matter, David. I thought we could start with a clean slate, but we can't. I hurt you, and you hurt me—no matter what, that's still going to be there."

She looked dejected, even hopeless. Perversely, her sad expression galled him. After all, if she had never taken off in the first place…

"So what, that's it?" He got up from the couch, turned away from her and jammed his fists in his pockets. "We should just walk away, you mean?"

She stood up, shocked. "Is that what you want?"

"Does it matter what _I _want?" he shot back.

They squared off, arms crossed, primed for a knock-down, drag-out fight. Maddie had a fleeting memory of her living room, furniture upturned and knickknacks shattering as they rolled around, frantically pawing at each other.

It had been so hot, so intense…and it was the last thing Maddie wanted now. For starters, she had no idea where that rug had come from, and once she got down there, she wasn't sure she could get back up.

"Wait—" they both said. Maddie tried and failed to stifle a giggle, and found herself on the edge of hysteria. Her emotions spilled over, and suddenly she was laughing.

Apparently, it was contagious, because David was laughing too. Maddie collapsed on the couch, wiping her eyes, and David sat down heavily next to her.

"What the hell is so funny?" he gasped.

Maddie swallowed another wave of mirth that threatened to overtake her. "David, don't you see? How many times are we going to play this scene? How many times are we each going to refuse to give more than the other?" Then, more soberly: "How many times are we going to hurt each other and pretend it doesn't matter?" She was quiet now. "I can't do it any more…I don't _want_ to do it."

"I don't want to do it either," he said, taking her hand.

"So what do we do instead?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "Maybe we have to figure it out as we go along."

"I love you, David," she said softly. It was the first time she had told him since the hospital, when Wally was born. It felt frightening and freeing at the same time.

David leaned his elbow along the back of the couch and brushed a strand of hair away from her face. He kissed her, once, twice, three times. Pulling her into his arms, he said, "I love you, Maddie Hayes, but there's one thing you have to promise me."

"What's that?" she asked, leaning back to look at him.

"No more damn pacts."

She stood up and pulled David to his feet. Looking into his eyes, she slowly unbuttoned her coat and let it fall to the floor, revealing a black satin nightgown. David gave a sharp intake of breath and she smiled.

She ran her fingertips up his bare arms to the nape of his neck. Pulling him to her, she kissed him, again and again, kissed his ear and jaw and neck, until his eyes were glazed and he was tangling his fingers in her hair.

"No pacts," she whispered, and led him from the room.


	4. Week Three: Guided Relaxation

**Week Three: Guided Relaxation**

David woke up slowly, aware of a blissful sense of satisfaction and well-being. Keeping his eyes closed so as to savor this feeling, he rolled over to pull Maddie to him.

He sat up abruptly. Her side of the bed was empty.

"Maddie?" he called. He got up and looked around: the shower was off, the bathroom empty. She wasn't in the tiny kitchen and—he glanced at the living room floor—her coat and shoes were gone, along with her purse.

Fighting rising anxiety, he went back into the bedroom and sank down on the bed. No. Not possible. Maddie had talked last night about replaying scenes—surely they weren't going to rewind five and a half months.

Not after what they shared last night. He had been nervous, and unusually tentative, afraid to hurt her or the baby. It wasn't like it had been before, losing themselves in a storm of passion. No, last night was fumbling and awkward and tender and sweet.

So where the hell was she? He flopped back on the pillow. He could NOT go through this again.

He spent the next hour pacing, and playing over nearly every minute of the last three weeks they had been together. Then he started calling: no answer at her house, so he tried the office.

"Has your lover gone bye-bye?  
Your girlfriend astray?  
Your partner is missing?  
Well, give us a day—"

"Agnes!"

"Oh—Mr. Addison!"

"Yeah. Listen, Agnes, is Maddie in yet?"

"Not yet, Mr. Addison. Do you want me to have her call you?"

"No, thanks." He barely restrained himself from slamming the phone down. No reason to worry Miss DiPesto…yet.

He had gone from annoyance to outrage to panic—what if something was wrong?—when he heard a key in the front door.

"David?" she called. "Can you help me with these things?"

Relief ran down his spine. He went into the front room and saw Maddie struggling through the door with two paper bags. As he hurried to take them, he said sharply, "Where were you?"

She looked at him—obviously, his tone struck her as odd. "You didn't have any food. I went back to my place to get clothes, and then I went to the store."

"Hmph," he muttered, unable to articulate anything more coherent. How could she not realize what she had put him through for the last 90 minutes? He set the bags on the counter and folded his arms. Maddie gave him an annoyed glance and started unpacking the groceries.

"Doughnut?" she asked, as if it were a peace offering.

"I hate glazed," he declared, and turned to leave the room.

"What's the matter? Woke up on the wrong side of your rock, Mr. Toad?"

He could tell her temper was rising. He didn't care. Walking back to where she stood, he glared at her. "What's the matter? What's the MATTER? We have a great night together—I wake up—you're gone. Sound familiar?"

"David, you're being an ass!"

Uh-oh. Her eyes were sparking. God, she was gorgeous…and she _hadn't_ taken off. She was still here. Still his.

He claimed her with a kiss, not gentle, but insistent. "David!" she said, taken aback; but he didn't stop, and soon she responded just as intensely.

"Next time, leave me a goddamn note," he huffed, and swept her back into the bedroom.

* * *

Later that day, Maddie was wading through expense receipts when David stuck his head in her door.

"Viola just gave me the skinny on the Winkley case."

"Oh—right—I tried to tell you last night, but…" she looked down with a small smile.

"…but we got a little sidetracked," he finished, sitting down across from her. "So," he said, stretching out, "what say I have a little chat with our boy Lance?"

"David! You can't do that. We were hired to follow him and report our findings to Miss Winkley. We have an obligation to tell her what we saw—"

"And give up the rest of our $100,000 when she dumps him like a bad lyric?"

"I know, David, I'm not looking forward to it either, but it's the right thing to do. Besides, if he would cheat on her after only two weeks—" She looked at him and stopped; she really wasn't spoiling for a fight.

"But we don't even know if he did!" David asserted. She held up the photographs in the manila envelope. "Circumstantial evidence, Maddie! I agree, it looks bad, but don't you think we owe it to Miss Winkley to make absolutely sure of what's going on before we tell her? Give me one more week."

"David, I think I smell a—"

"Rat? Should I call the exterminator?"

"No. A weasel." She shook her head. What was it about his smirk that made her either want to strangle him or…? "Fine. I can't seem to say no to you today," she remarked, then blushed as she realized the double entendre. "Now go on…get out of here, so I can get some work done."

Glancing at the closed door, he came around the desk and nuzzled her neck. "Pick you up for dinner at 6:00?"

She squirmed and pushed him away, though she really wanted to draw him closer. "Addison--go!"

"Right you are, Boss. See you at six!" he saluted, strolling out the door.

* * *

The following Monday, David and Bert sat discussing the Winkley case. Photographs of Lance Marmon were spread out on David's desk.

"Five mornings of surveillance, Bertie, and we've come up with nothing conclusive! There's been no trace of the Alternate Ingenue."

Rumpled and unshaven, Bert yawned, "Don't forget about the evenings, sir."

David looked at him. "Yeah, sorry about leaving you solo on that one, Bert old boy, but I've had…obligations—you know…" He winked.

"So I take it, things are going well with Ms. Hayes, sir? Not meaning to pry, of course," Bert finished, resting his chin on one hand.

"Well…" David lowered his voice confidentially. "I don't want to say too much, but I think I've got her on the run."

"I'm thrilled for you, Mr. Addison, really I am," Bert said tiredly. "But you aren't the only one with…embers to stoke, if you know what I mean."

David wrinkled his nose at Bert's metaphor. "Yeah, I get it—Agnes tired of keeping the home fires burning all by herself? OK, take tonight off…I'll take this shift. I promised Maddie a report tomorrow, anyway."

"Oh, thank you, sir!" Bert shook his hand and stumbled out the door.

Later that evening, David sat parked across from Bangin' Music, waiting for Lance Marmon's shift to end. The lad was nothing if not predictable—every evening, he locked up the store and walked to a bar four blocks down.

David got out of the car and followed him down the street. He strolled into the bar, raising the average age of its clientele by about five years. Mullet-haired guys and miniskirted girls clustered around the dartboard and the bank of videogames; almost none of them looked of legal age.

David shook his head, grabbed a beer at the bar, and searched for Lance. He spied him feeding quarters into a videogame and sauntered over. He watched the younger man play once, then again, and then a third time. It didn't look too difficult—getting an adventurous frog past a variety of obstacles—and there was an identical machine right next to the one Lance was using. David changed a few dollars into quarters and started playing.

An hour later and ten dollars poorer, David had collected a small crowd behind him, who were cheering him on as he and Lance vied for high score. David felt adrenaline rush through him; he pushed his frog to the limit, narrowly missing a bus and a taxi and finally hopping safely onto the sidewalk. At the same time, poor Lance's frog was flattened by an oncoming semi.

The crowd erupted; David was high-fived, his back was slapped, and two napkins with phone numbers were thrust into his grasp. Ever the good sport, he shook Lance's hand.

"Good game," he said. "Buy you a beer?"

"Sure," the youth agreed.

They sat at the bar, their well-wishers having drifted off in search of a new hero. David got Lance talking: he came here every night, played games, and drank beer, in an effort to forget…

"Ah," David nodded understandingly. "Girl trouble, eh? What's she like?"

Lance hung his head. "She's gorgeous, talented…amazing." He took a sip of beer and lowered his voice. "Nobody knows in here—that's why I come here—but she's famous."

David raised his eyebrows. "Really? She an actress?"

"No," Lance whispered, and looked around to make sure no one was in earshot. "She's a singer…Misty Winkley."

"No way!" David exclaimed discreetly.

Lance shook his head. "I know…girl like her, with a guy like me? Crazy, right? But she came into the record store two years ago, before she hit it big. We totally connected about music…I asked her out, and she said yes. We've been together ever since…but we keep it really quiet—her agent says it's better if people think she's single."

"Hmmm…that OK with you?"

"Yeah, I don't mind. I wouldn't want to deal with people following me, wanting to know what kind of cereal I eat for breakfast, y'know?"

David raised an eyebrow. _Ah, the irony_, he thought. "So what's the problem?"

"She left…went on tour in Europe. She's been gone three weeks, and I've only gotten one phone message from her. She's probably all wrapped up in the high life—no time to think about schmos like me."

"C'mon, man, she's lucky to have a guy like you! Down to earth, knows his tunes, killer frogging instinct…you don't come across qualities like that every day," David punched the boy's shoulder encouragingly.

"Nah—it's over. She might as well have announced it on MTV."

"It ain't over till the fat lady sings, buddy." Lance looked at him in total incomprehension. "Do you love her?"

"Of course I do! She's beautiful, talented, amazing—"

"Yeah, yeah, I got it. Let me ask you…how do you know she's not over there in London or Paris, singing her poor heart out every night, missing you?"

Just then, the young blonde from the surveillance photos walked into the bar. Lance sat up straighter and raised his beer in greeting. The girl came over, put her arms around him, and kissed his cheek.

"Like, hi!" she said cheerfully.

"Hey, how ya doin'?" Lance responded.

"Great…oh, sorry, like, I didn't mean to interrupt." She looked at David. "Are you, like, interviewing him for a job or something?"

"We're just talking," Lance said, and handed her some quarters. "Hey, why don't you go get Donkey Kong warmed up for me? I'll be there in a minute."

"OK," the girl answered, twirling on her half-booted heel. She looked back, tossing her long hair, "Bye!"

"Bye!" said David, waving halfheartedly. Turning to Lance, he said, "Is she the next in line?"

Lance shrugged. "I guess so. She's super-nice, and she thinks I'm the best videogame player she's ever seen…it's nice to be appreciated, y'know?"

David looked down at his beer. "Yeah, I _do_ know. But I also know that love doesn't come along that often…" He felt himself getting a little maudlin, and stopped. "Have you even tried to call _her_?"

"She knows where to find me." Lance jutted his chin out stubbornly.

David put a hand on Lance's shoulder. "Pride won't love you back, man…just call her—and _keep_ calling her…do whatever you have to do. But don't"—he gestured toward the blonde—"do _that_."

He tossed some bills onto the bar and took his leave. "Best of luck to you, buddy."

* * *

"Tonight, we're going to talk about visualization during labor. Using relaxation techniques like this can help your contractions feel less painful and more manageable. The coach's job is very important here, supporting Mom's relaxation by voice and touch. Now, let's have moms lying down, and dads in support position." Nurse Bridges walked over to a portable stereo and turned it on. The room filled with New Age music.

Maddie lay down, as instructed; at the sound of the harp, however, David clutched his throat and gagged. "Why can't we have a little Sam Cooke? It'd be a heck of a lot more relaxing than this…it makes my spine itch," he complained in an undertone.

"OK, Moms, we're going to start with breathing. Slow, deep breaths…feel the rise and fall of your ribcage…now, every time you exhale, try to get rid of some of your tension…"

Maddie inhaled deeply, and let the breath out slowly. She looked up at David. "You're still here? I guess it didn't work."

"Very funny. You're supposed to be focusing, here."

"Focusing, where? I really don't think this is going to work for me…I feel ridiculous." She started to sit up, but David pressed her shoulder back down.

"C'mon, Blondie, let's try it again…"

Nurse Bridges said, "Dads, if Mom is having a hard time unwinding, you can add some very light, soothing touch…perhaps along her arm or leg."

David picked up Maddie's hand. "Re-lax," he whispered. She let her arm go limp. "There you go…now close your eyes." She obeyed. He started stroking her arm softly, from her wrist up to her shoulder, back and forth.

"Keep breathing…now I'd like you to close your eyes, and imagine yourself in a peaceful place: it could be a beach, a cabin, even a room in your house."

David moved on to her other arm. A picture of her bedroom came into Maddie's mind.

"Now imagine yourself relaxing in that space: lying on the beach, curled up in front of a fire, wrapped in a warm comforter…"

As she inhaled and exhaled rhythmically, Maddie felt lighter, calmer, more focused…maybe this _is_ working, she thought. She was in her bed, in her favorite pajamas, snuggled under her softest blanket.

Wait a minute—she wasn't alone.

Her eyes popped open. David was running his fingertips along the outside of her leg with the lightest touch. His eyes were closed, and he was breathing in tandem with her. He seemed to be totally concentrated on this moment.

She felt a burst of tenderness for him—for trying to do this, with her and for her. She touched his hand; he opened his eyes, and laced his fingers through hers.

She sat up. "I think I need some water," she murmured. Keeping hold of David's hand, she stood up; he signaled to Nurse Bridges that they would be right back, and they walked down the hall. Instead of heading for the water fountain, however, Maddie opened the door to the supply closet and pulled David in behind her.

"Maddie, what are you—"

She turned to him and kissed him with all the force of her gratitude. Surprised, he staggered backward against a shelf. Neither of them let go, even as rolls of gauze and boxes of band-aids rained down around them.


	5. Week Four: Trusting Your Partner

Quick Disclaimer: I am not a doctor, just a mom with a fair amount of pregnancy and birth experience. I hereby officially apologize for any medical inaccuracies, inconsistencies, or anachronisms that may be found in this or the following chapters...hey, that's more than the real show did! ;)

**Week Four: Trusting Your Partner**

Still parked outside the clinic, Maddie sat in her car, stunned. How could this be? How was it possible?

Just when she thought her life had ordered itself around a certain set of facts—facts that everybody knew, that everybody understood—everything changed.

Dr. Hill had told her before she left Chicago that she was 22 weeks pregnant, that the date of conception was March 3rd; Sam was therefore most likely the father. Maddie had accepted this information unquestioningly. She didn't like it, but she accepted it. And eventually, so had David.

That was eight weeks ago, so she should be 30 weeks now. But after doing a sonogram, her new obstetrician had just told her that she was probably only 28 weeks. Something called the "crown-rump measurement" was off.

Was she sure? Maddie had asked.

The doctor had nodded. As sure as she could be, she said. They could do another scan in a few weeks and see if the results were consistent with this one.

This changed everything.

Here she was, an intelligent, independent woman, running her own business, in love with a funny, loyal man--someone who kept her on her toes, who never bored her. Not only did this man love her too, but he was willing to raise another man's child with her. Now, it appeared, the child was his after all…a happy ending for everyone, right?

Only in the world of Maddie Hayes and David Addison could such a straightforward scenario be so complicated.

Of course, a part of Maddie was thrilled. The spectre of Sam could be put to rest. There would be no more worry about when—or what—to tell him. When she had seen David with Terri, she had known without a doubt that she _wanted_ this to be David's baby; this feeling had only intensified in the last few weeks, as she had watched the other couples in their Lamaze class prepare for the miracle they had created—together. Now she and David could be one of those couples, debating whose eyes the baby would have and whether Aunt Muriel's bizarre sense of humor would live on.

So why didn't she feel like rushing to a pay phone and sharing the glad news with David?

Because things between them were so fragile. Their reborn relationship was just a tiny flame, far more embryonic than the baby growing inside her. She knew that David was still having to make the effort, every day, to trust that she wouldn't suddenly run off, and to acquit her for the last time she had. She had forgiven him for Rita, but was still getting used to the fact that she both wanted _and_ needed him.

They needed to sit with this for awhile—to be comfortable with being together as the status quo. Any changes, any shakeups, could stomp out the little flame they had coaxed back into life.

Besides, Maddie thought, David was with her now because he _chose_ to be. Both of them understood that if things didn't work out, they were free to walk away. Once he knew that this was _his_ child, however, that freedom would disappear. David would stick with her through anything for the child—even if he stopped loving her.

But she couldn't NOT tell him; it was patently unfair, and David would consider it the basest betrayal (and he would be right, Maddie admitted to herself). She remembered his suspicious look when she first told him the baby was Sam's. She shuddered, thinking of the flatness in her voice when she said, "It's not yours." She hadn't really meant to sound cold, but she needed to push him away—to make him mad so he would leave her alone. If he had shown any affection, God forbid had taken her in his arms again, she would've folded, admitted her marriage was a mistake and begged his forgiveness right then and there.

Which, given how things happened, might not have been so bad. Though at least it seemed to be working out for Walter and Terri.

So: she had to tell him. She couldn't pile more mistakes on top of their precarious new beginning.

But there was one other consideration. What if this doctor was wrong? What if she went back for the next sonogram and it confirmed the original date? She couldn't put David (or herself) through that, building his hopes only to smash them down.

Wait. Maybe waiting was the right choice this time. What difference, after all, could a few more weeks make? Yes. She would wait to tell him until she knew for certain—well, almost certain.

Maddie pulled out of her parking space and headed home.

* * *

David walked into their class that evening and saw Maddie arranging her pillows on top of the blue mat. She looked up and smiled slightly as he crossed the room to her, kissing her cheek.

"Still the sexiest woman here," he whispered, seating himself behind her as the instructor called for their attention. Maddie rolled her eyes, but leaned back against him, sighing softly.

After reviewing what they had learned so far, Nurse Bridges reminded them, "It's really important that you be practicing the breathing and the relaxation techniques at home, preferably together. Labor can feel frightening, out of control—so it's crucial, Moms, that you trust your labor partner and what he's doing."

She put a tape into the VCR. "Now, of course, you're all here because you'd like to have your birth proceed as naturally as possible. However, it's always best to be prepared for any eventuality. This is footage of an actual C-section, taken right here at the hospital." She dimmed the lights and pressed "Play."

David shifted uncomfortably in his chair as they watched an anonymous woman be prepped for the surgery and given an epidural, accompanied by a rather monotone voiceover.

"Are you all right?" whispered Maddie.

"Reminds me of those stupid medical shows…especially that St. Wherever-it-is," he said.

The film's narrator went on, explaining, "Your obstetrician will make the incision in the lower abdomen…" A collective wince showed across the men's faces; oddly, the women didn't seem bothered by the graphic scene.

As the baby was delivered on-screen, David suddenly felt very woozy. Head in hand, he groaned.

Nurse Bridges knelt down next to him. "David, are you all right?"

"Water," he croaked.

He sipped from the cup she gave him and revived a little. He saw Maddie looking at him in amusement.

"You're not going to be one of those men who faints in the delivery room, are you? I've never known you to be squeamish before."

"I wasn't 'squeamish'," he protested. "I just…I just don't want to imagine anyone doing that to _you_. It seems sorta…barbaric."

Maddie squeezed his hand. "Well, we'll do our best to keep things civilized," she commented dryly.

After class, they went back to Maddie's. She retired to the couch with a cup of tea while David rummaged in the fridge for a snack.

When he came into the living room, balancing two bowls of ice cream and two spoons, Maddie was sitting staring into the fire, her hands closed around her mug. She looked like she was a million miles away.

"Rocky Road or Vanilla Swiss Almond?" he asked, pressing her shoulder lightly with his free hand.

Maddie jumped at his touch, spilling her tea all down the front of her blouse, and sending a scoop of Rocky Road down David's shirt.

"Hot!" she gasped; "Cold!" he wheezed.

She stalked upstairs for a change of clothes. David went back to the kitchen, stripped off his shirt, and cleaned off the ice cream as best he could. Shrugging his shoulders, he put the damp shirt back on and went out to the couch.

He could hear Maddie in the laundry room, muttering to herself as she dealt with the stain. He almost felt sorry for the blouse: Maddie in her original state was intimidating, but Maddie on pregnancy hormones could be absolutely terrifying.

She returned dressed in silk pajamas that flowed over her belly. "So what had the hamsters running so hard?" David asked, tapping his head. She gave him a quizzical glance and sat down. Then he remembered.

"Wait—didn't you have an appointment with Dr. Weed today?" He put a hand on her knee, concerned. "Did it go OK? Is everything—"

"Everything's fine, David," she said shortly, looking away.

David tipped her chin so she had to look him in the eye. "Are you sure, Maddie?" he asked gently.

She looked at him for a moment, then leaned in and kissed him softly. The kiss had the flavor of an apology, though he couldn't think why.

"Yes, it's fine…_he's_ fine." She stroked her bump. "He's fine," she said again.

David felt a swoop of joy at her words. "He? You mean, _he_ he?"

"He he," Maddie nodded.

"As in, not a she?"

"_Definitely_ not a she," Maddie replied, amused.

"Wow!" He grinned widely and put a hand over hers. He felt like running, like punching the air…anyone would think this was _his_ child, _his_ son.

But it wasn't—not yet. He still had to earn his place as a father.

"Well," he said, somewhat subdued. "You're gonna want to get rid of this"—he indicated the glass coffee table—"and those"—he pointed to the wall of windows facing the backyard.

"Those?" she questioned.

"I've got one word for you, Maddie: BASEBALL."

"Aren't you being a little premature?" she asked.

He was already feeling like a second-class citizen, and this comment didn't help. Was she talking about his uncertain status in her--and the baby's--life? "What does_ that_ mean?" he replied, more sharply than he intended.

Maddie raised her eyebrows. "I just mean…shouldn't we worry about him eating and crawling and sleeping—or not sleeping—before we worry about him breaking the windows?"

But David couldn't let it go. "We?" he asked.

Maddie looked perplexed. Then the light seemed to dawn. "We…or me," she said starkly.

"Well, which is it gonna be, Maddie? We—or me?...I mean—you?" David challenged, crossing his arms.

They stared each other down for a full minute.

"I am NOT having this conversation right now," she insisted. Then she shook her head, exasperated. "Why do we always do this?" She took his hand and looked at him, her eyes softening. Quietly, she asked, "Can we just…have a nice evening together, without arguing about Little League?"

David knew there was more to it than that, so much more. But he looked at her, arms around her belly; she seemed strangely vulnerable. She was having a boy—a son. If he played his cards right, he might get to be involved in that. It would have to be enough, for now.

He slid over and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "A nice evening?" he questioned, touching her cheek. "Or"—his lips found her neck—"a nice night?" he leered hopefully, his eyes flicking toward the stairs.

"David!" Maddie said, but her voice was low and sultry. She pulled him against her, and there was no more talking that night.


	6. Week Five: Newborn Care

**Week Five: Newborn Care**

"Crib, car seat, changing table…" Maddie read off her list.

"Changing table? Does it transform for poker games? Let's get a big one—seats four to six," David exclaimed enthusiastically.

They were in a huge, warehouse-style baby store in West LA. Always efficient, Maddie had pointed out that they could get everything they needed there.

"David, you use a changing table for changing the baby's diapers," she said, pointing to one.

"Oh, yeah, I set one of those up for Terri—just didn't know what it was for. Anyway, you pick. I won't be using it much."

Maddie found his offhand attitude insulting. "What? Are you trying to say you won't be changing any diapers? You think, just because I'm a woman, _I_ should do all the menial tasks? Well, this is the 1980s, David, _not_ the 1950s, and I have a business to run."

David watched her with one of his infuriating smirks. "Don't burn your bra, Gloria. I'll be doing my share of Pampers duty…I just don't need some fancy table to do it on."

Now it was Maddie's turn to look amused. "Oh, really? And just how many diapers have you ever changed, Phil Donahue?"

"Plenty! For your information, I was the most popular babysitter in a four-block radius," he insisted. Looking nostalgic, he added, "Yeah…all the South Philly mamas loved me—especially the single ones." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"You are incorrigible! Your gift for turning the charming into the obscene is unmatched," she said tartly, but she couldn't suppress a small smile.

"Well, I know at least _one_ single mama who loves me," he grinned, stealing a quick kiss.

She hit him over the head with her list. "Focus, Addison! My feet are starting to hurt."

Half an hour later, they still hadn't chosen anything. Maddie was becoming increasingly irritated with David's waning attention span.

"So which one do you like best? The colonial or the shaker-style?" she asked him.

"Ooh—how about this?" David grabbed a manual breast pump and held it up to one eye. "We gotta get one of these!"

"David!"

He rolled his eyes at her. "I'm sorry, Maddie, but I just don't care whether we get honey or walnut or white finish—you get what you like. I'll be in charge of the toys…this looks fun." He picked up a plastic fire engine and pressed the siren. A screeching "WOOOOOooooooo" filled the aisle, and Maddie clapped her hands over her ears. "Maybe we'll give this one a pass," he whispered, and carefully placed it back on the shelf.

"Oh, so I get to choose all the useful stuff, and you get to have all the fun? Is this how it's going to be?" she said, vexed. She had a sudden vision of herself, shaking her finger in the face of a grinning, green-eyed miscreant with freckles on his nose, while his balding partner in crime tried to keep a straight face.

"Someone's blood sugar is dropping—isn't it time for lunch?"

"Don't patronize me, David," she said, though she _was_ hungry and tired. "I'm serious. I won't be the bad guy all the time. I do _not_ want to raise this child like we manage the employees."'

David hooked an arm around her and propelled her down the aisle. "Maddie, Maddie, Maddie…I can keep the kids in line when I need to! In fact, I'll prove it to you tonight—we can play headmaster and naughty schoolgirl…"

* * *

Driving to Lamaze class that night, David thought back to their conversation in the baby store. Was Maddie really afraid that he was too immature to handle the serious responsibilities of raising a child? The discipline, the sleepless nights, the worry?

He supposed, given his track record at the agency, that it wasn't surprising that she was concerned. But in his mind, parenthood was completely different from running (or helping to run) a business. He had always expected to have children, had thought, in fact, that he would be a father a few times over by now. Well, it was finally happening, not exactly in the way he would've predicted, but still…however much he joked, he was ready. He just needed to get Maddie to see that.

When everyone had settled into their chairs, Nurse Bridges announced, "Before we get started tonight, I have some information about warning signs of labor, and other reasons to call your doctor." She distributed a few handouts. "Now, tonight we'll be focusing on Newborn Care. Your baby is finally here…what do you do with him?" They all laughed. "Most people think taking care of an infant is instinctive, that we should just 'know' how to do it. But the details, like dressing, bathing, even breastfeeding—can seem overwhelming when you're dealing with sleep deprivation and postpartum hormones."

She pointed to a row of dolls, laid out on a nearby table. "Each couple will have their own 'baby' to work with. Moms, make sure you let the dads practice, too—you're going to want their help at two o'clock in the morning."

Everyone adjourned to the table to pick up a 'baby'; Maddie and David's was dark-eyed, with a thatch of brown hair and a surprised expression. "Aw, look at that—he can't believe his luck," David quipped.

For the next half hour, they dressed and undressed, swaddled, bathed, and burped the doll. Most of the men stumbled through their turn, with the exception of Mel, who was clearly an old pro. David did pretty well; at least his baby's shirt wasn't on backward, and he hadn't dunked its head in the imaginary bath. He thought Maddie seemed impressed.

Maddie herself struggled a little—with embarrassment—when Nurse Bridges showed them the positioning options and proper latching technique for breastfeeding. He leaned over and murmured, "Not to worry. I'm planning on being very hands-on while you're nursing the little papoose."

"For your information," Maddie whispered back, "I haven't decided if I'm going to breastfeed. It's going to be hard enough juggling the agency and the baby, without having to be on call every few hours."

"What?" David said loudly. Everyone looked over at them. "Just trying to decide on our favorite position," he improvised. The class dissolved into laughter, Mel and Rick high-fiving each other.

Maddie put her hand over her eyes. "I swear you exist exclusively for the purpose of humiliating me," she hissed.

Nurse Bridges put on a how-to video, and attention returned to the front of the room. Under cover of the saccharine background music, David said, "Seriously, Maddie, you _do_ know that breastfeeding is best, right? They've done studies—kids are smarter, better adjusted, healthier…"

Maddie regarded him in surprise. "What are you, the local La Leche League representative?"

"No, I just…did a lot of reading while you were gone." He shrugged, as if it was no big deal, and turned to watch the video. A moment later, her hand covered his and she rested her head on his shoulder. _Got her_, he thought, and couldn't help smiling.


	7. Week Six: Premature Labor

**Week Six: Premature Labor**

David flung open her door just as Maddie was trying to stretch—bending from side to side as far as she could, and then reaching for the ceiling. Her back had been aching since lunch, a sure sign she had been sitting too long.

"Tonight, for your dining pleasure, we have reservations at the Ivy. 'But David!' you say, 'that's where all the celebrities are doing their deals these days!' How could I have gotten a table there at the last minute, you ask? Well, it's not everyone that can imitate the smooth baritone of Mr. Die Hard himself, but you"—he swung her around in an impromptu waltz—"have the great good luck to be going out with a top-notch Bruce Willis impersonator." He went to dip her slightly, and she winced.

"Hey--are you OK?" he asked.

"Fine," she waved him away and sat down. "My back's just been bothering me."

"All day?"

"Off and on."

David raised his eyebrows. "How 'off and on'?" Maddie looked at him, puzzled. "Like every five or ten minutes?" he pressed.

"I don't know, David," she said, irritably. "Maybe…I guess so."

He pulled her up from the sofa. "Jesus, Maddie, didn't you read any of the stuff Nurse Bridges gave us last week?"

Maddie started to retort, but doubled over as pain wrapped around her belly and squeezed. David waited until she could stand up straight again, and then hurried her out of the office. "Agnes," he said as they passed the reception desk, "Ms. Hayes and I are leaving a little early. Lock up, will you?"

As they walked out the door, Maddie protested, "David—I'm sure I'm fine—"

"Don't argue, Maddie, unless you want Jergenson delivering the little snapper." He punched the elevator button repeatedly, hustled her to the car, and then took off on squealing tires for the hospital.

The next few hours passed in a blur. She was examined, poked, prodded, and scanned. The contractions continued, about every seven minutes or so, David said—but they didn't seem to be getting more painful or frequent, which apparently was good.

Eventually, she lay in a bed, hooked up to a machine that measured the contractions and the baby's heart rate, fluids and medication running through an IV into her arm. David sat next to the bed in the room's only chair. He looked as exhausted as she felt.

Maddie's chest tightened. Things between them had been good lately, so good. After all the ups and downs, they were on a tentatively even keel. And they were both, she thought, looking forward to having this baby together. Tears pricked her eyes; now that she was finally lying still, all the frightening possibilities came crowding in. Pressing her hands to her belly, she silently pleaded for the contractions to stop, for everything to be all right.

David saw her tears. "Hey…hey," he said, taking her hand and kissing it. "Everything's gonna be fine, Blondie. Just fine."

"I know. It's just that"—she suddenly had a thought—"You're going to think this is silly, but—I want my mother."

"You got it." He seemed relieved to have something to do. "One grandma-to-be, coming right up. I'll be back in a minute." He leaned over and kissed her.

As he walked out of the room, Maddie realized how much she had started to rely on him, how much she was counting on him to help with this baby. Something about that nagged at her brain…the baby…she still hadn't told him! She had been on edge these last few weeks, waiting to be able to tell him—but the panic of the last three hours had driven it from her mind.

She thought they had done a sonogram tonight, though they had run such a bewildering array of tests so quickly, it was hard to be sure. As soon as she saw the doctor, she would ask her. Then she could tell David. She smiled to herself, thinking of his reaction, then shifted on the pillow and closed her eyes.

*** * ***

David grabbed a carton of orange juice from the cafeteria and headed to the pay phones. He checked his watch—8:30 pm—Lamaze would be starting soon. Well, they'd have to catch up next week.

He dialed the Hayes' number, reminding himself to breathe deeply and sound reassuring. There was no need to panic them.

"Hello?"

"Hi—Mrs. Hayes? It's David, David Addison."

"Oh, hello, David, how are you?" Mrs. Hayes replied, sounding a bit uncertain. Then—"Is Maddie all right?"

"Yes, she's fine. She had some contractions tonight, though, so we're at the hospital—"

"But—but—it's far too early! Is the baby all right?"

"So far, he's, uh, everything's OK." He didn't know whether Maddie had told them the baby was a boy. How could he not know that? "They gave her some fluids, and the contractions are slowing down. Everything's going to be fine," he said, with more confidence than he felt.

"Well, maybe I should come out there…to help, you know. Do you think Maddie would want that?"

David had to smile. No one wanted to second-guess the formidable Ms. Hayes—not even her mother. "Yeah, I think she would. She asked me to call you."

"I'll see if I can catch the red-eye."

"Great. I'll pick you up."

"Oh, David, that's nice of you, but I'm sure you have lots of important things to be doing."

"Mrs. Hayes, _nothing_ is more important than this. I'll see you at the airport."

There was silence for a moment. Then Maddie's mother said, "Thank you, David." He thought she might be crying.

They said their goodbyes, and David walked back down the corridor toward Maddie's room. Had Maddie told her parents they were back together? He didn't know that either…he wasn't even sure they were aware of the whole Walter débacle.

He shook his head. The more he knew her, the more of a mystery she became.

Walking by the nurse's station, he spied Dr. Weed checking over a chart. She had been terrific—very reassuring to Maddie—but David felt that he needed to get the unvarnished truth.

"Excuse me, Doctor."

"Yes? Oh, Mr. Addison—I was just about to look in on our patient. How are her spirits?"

"Well, her mother's on her way, so that should help. Listen, Doc, can I ask you…" He swallowed. "What if you can't stop the contractions? Will the baby be OK if he comes this early?" He braced himself for her answer.

"Well, it's hard to know, Mr. Addison."

"But—she's 32 weeks along…I mean, babies have been born that early before, right? And they're fine, right?"

"Actually"—the doctor consulted Maddie's chart—"she's only 30 weeks."

This didn't make sense. "Only 30 weeks? No, no—I'm sure she was 32 this week. I've been, uh, keeping track."

Dr. Weed closed the chart and glanced up at him. "Yes—I guess there was some mix-up on that point. But when we did the sonogram a few weeks ago, it was apparent that she was not as far along as she thought…"

She went on, explaining something about the baby's lungs needing to develop further, low birth weight, vulnerability to infection…David stood there nodding, but he couldn't take any of it in.

Two facts flashed on his brain as if in neon lights:

He had to be the baby's father.  
Maddie had known—and hadn't told him.

He collapsed into the nearest chair.

"Mr. Addison, are you all right?" Dr. Weed's voice seemed to come from very far away. He looked up and tried to focus.

"I know the possibilities are scary, but in all likelihood, she won't deliver right away. We have the contractions under control, and she hasn't dilated at all, which is the important thing. We'll put her on bed rest for a week or so, and see how it goes. The most important thing is to reduce her stress level: every day that baby stays inside, his chances get better and better."

"Yeah, right, of course—low stress."

"Shall we go in?" she asked.

David walked into the room behind her. She turned around and put a finger to her lips. Maddie was asleep, the machines still printing and clicking and beeping around her. The doctor checked a printout, then gestured for David to follow her into the corridor.

"Well, it looks like the contractions have stopped for now, and the baby's heart rate is right on track." She looked at him kindly. "Why don't you go home and get some rest? We'll call you if anything changes."

"Sure," David said numbly.

He got to the car and just sat there. Once upon a time, with feelings like this swirling inside him, he would've gone straight to the nearest bar to commune with the Cuervos. But he had to pick Maddie's mother up at 7:00am, and he didn't want to be reeking and slurring when he did.

He rested his head on the steering wheel for a long moment. He was hurt, outraged, but also confused. Why would she do this? _"I wish with all my heart that this was your baby growing inside me,"_ she had said, not so long ago. Apparently her wish had come true—so why would she keep that from him?

Had he done something to make her change her mind? He didn't think so; if anything, just the opposite. He thought of their shopping trip, when she had asked his opinions; and then, after class that night…she seemed closer to making him a permanent part of the baby's life—and hers—than ever.

He finally turned on the engine and started home. As he drove, images of the last several weeks flipped through his mind: Maddie laughing at dinner, rolling her eyes at him across her desk, breathing with him in Lamaze, clasping his hand as they made love.

Then he remembered the night a few weeks ago, when she told him the baby was a boy. He pictured her faraway look, and the way she hadn't wanted to talk about the sonogram. She had known then.

He thought of his own insecurity that night, feeling like he was there on sufferance. He had worked so hard, both before she came home and after, to prove to her what a good father he would be, so that she would choose him.

Well, the time for choosing was over. This was his baby, his _son_. He didn't have to prove anything to anyone. He would be involved in this child's life whether Maddie wanted him or not.

David unlocked his apartment door and threw the keys on his old trunk. He went to the refrigerator to get himself a beer, and then walked into his bedroom. His answering machine was blinking.

_The baby_, he thought, punching the button; but it was only a random sales call. He pushed "Erase" and the machine began rewinding...and kept going, all the way back to the beginning of the tape.

Maddie's voice filled the stillness of the room as the months-old message played: _David, are you there? If you're there, please pick up. I just called the office and Agnes said you'd left for Chicago. David, please, I really don't want you here. I don't want to go into it now, just please do as I ask…I'm having a hard enough time sorting out everything without having to go 15 rounds with you—_

Rage coursed through him. It was the same damn thing with her, over and over: Do this, don't do that, I'm not talking to you, don't come here, wait for me, none of your business. He ripped the machine out of the wall and hurled it—the window shattered. He could hear a faint crash as the machine hit the pavement below, splintering into a thousand pieces.

*** * ***

Maddie was sitting up in bed, picking at her breakfast of lumpy oatmeal and cold toast, when David and Mrs. Hayes walked in.

"Maddie!" Mrs. Hayes exclaimed, coming quickly to the bed to hug her. She rested her hand on Maddie's belly. "How's my grandchild?"

"He's fine, Mom, really," Maddie replied, squeezing her mother's hand. "Thanks for coming—I'm so glad you're here." She looked at David, who was hanging back, apparently reluctant to interrupt the mother-daughter reunion.

"Still no contractions?" he asked.

She shook her head, smiling over at him. "I think they'll let me go home later today."

"Really? That's great." She thought his voice was missing some of its usual buoyance, but figured he probably hadn't gotten much sleep.

"Call me when you're ready to go. In the meantime, I'd better get back to the office—make sure MacGillicudy and Viola are behaving themselves." He backed toward the door.

"All right," Maddie said. Wasn't he even going to kiss her?

Her mother walked over to him, taking his hand and kissing him on the cheek. "David—thank you," she said, brushing away a tear. "Look at me, acting like a silly old woman!" she smiled.

David seemed touched by her emotion. "No—you're acting like a grandma, Mrs. Hayes."

"Oh—call me Virginia. After all, we're practically—"

The door opened and a nurse came in to check Maddie's vitals and readjust the contraction monitor. By the time she was done bustling around, David was gone.

Maddie spent the remainder of the morning chatting with her mother and getting instructions on strict bed rest: she could get up once a day to take a shower, and that was it. She was supposed to lie on her left side, stay quiet and calm. In addition, the doctor said, no…intimacy…until they were sure that the contractions weren't coming back.

Maddie thought of David and nearly laughed in the doctor's face; her orders stood pretty much in direct contradiction to the way their relationship worked. Then she sighed. Apparently, they were going to have to learn—again—a new way of being with each other, at least for the next few weeks.

* * *

"Go slow, now," David said to her several hours later, as he helped her up the stairs to her bedroom. Her mother had gone up ahead of them and was turning down sheets and fluffing pillows.

"I'm not an invalid," she protested. "I'm just having a baby."

"Yeah, well, hopefully not _today_," he said, steering her toward the bed. She climbed in.

"Maddie, dear, would you like something to drink?" her mother asked, smoothing the bedclothes around her.

"Nothing right now, Mom, thanks."

Mrs. Hayes turned to David. "What about you?"

"Thanks, Mrs.—Virginia, but I'd better get going."

"Oh, of course," Virginia said. "You must be so busy."

Maddie raised her eyebrows at him. They weren't _that_ busy, unless he had accepted a raft of new cases this morning. His concern over leaving the office was atypical, to say the least. And she had been hoping to have time to talk to him, to let him know…

But if he was in that much of a hurry, it would have to wait. Maybe he was just uncomfortable with her mother here.

"Need anything before I go?" he asked her.

_Yes,_ she thought. _I need to know what's wrong, why the Hooky King is in such a rush to put his nose back to the grindstone._ Aloud she said, smiling for her mother's benefit, "No, no, we're fine. Mom will take care of everything."

"That's why I'm here!" Virginia said brightly. "Maddie, I'll just go and get your magazines from downstairs."

David watched her leave, then turned back to Maddie and ran a hand through his hair. "Bert and I are staking out Brentano's Bakery tonight, so I'll call you in the morning."

Moving toward the bed, he bent down to kiss her cheek. She turned her face into his, grabbing his tie and pulling him in for a real kiss. For a minute, she felt like she had imagined his coolness; then he stood up quickly. "You'd better behave yourself, Ms. Hayes. Dr. Dale said no hanky-panky." His tone was teasing, but something was missing…

"David?" she said uncertainly as he made for the door.

He turned around. "Yeah?" he asked. In his eyes was an all-too-familiar look of wounded indignation. Where was this coming from? She felt her blood rise and prepared for battle. Then she remembered the doctor's _other_ instruction. _Do not get upset. Do not get upset_, she counseled herself.

"Nothing," she said. "Good luck tonight."

But as he closed her door behind him, it hit her: he knew.


	8. Week Seven: Pain Management

**Week Seven: Pain Management**

David took a deep breath and knocked. Normally, he would've just let himself in, but he didn't want Virginia to think—oh, hell, this was ludicrous. He was second-guessing his second (and third and fourth) guesses: as to how much the Hayes' knew, what Maddie was feeling, and, most of all, how she could have kept this from him—had she _ever_ planned to tell him? If so, when?

Maddie had been home from the hospital for a week, and he had successfully avoided seeing her, claiming stakeouts, bowling commitments, and even babysitting for Little Wally as excuses to stay away. And Maddie hadn't pressed him, hadn't asked if anything was wrong, or requested that he come by. He had even gone to Lamaze class by himself, picking up lots of information about epidurals and Demerol. It was too bad, he thought, that _he_ wasn't the pregnant one—he could certainly use a good anesthetic.

He had never worked so hard to stay busy, even when she was in Chicago. On the plus side, the office was in apple-pie order: every file filed, the bills paid, the books up to date. Maddie wouldn't recognize the place when she came back.

But now he had run out of excuses…so here he was.

"David!" Virginia said with pleasure as she opened the door. "Don't you have your key?" Well, that answered one question, he thought. "Maddie is going to be so happy to see you! Can I help you with those?" She gestured to the files he was carrying, the ostensible reason for his visit.

"No, I've got it. Thanks, Virginia."

"Well, you go on up…I'll bring you two something to drink in a few minutes."

David walked slowly up the stairs. _Do not upset her_, he reminded himself. This was the real reason he hadn't come by before—his anger was still so close to the surface, and he was afraid of being drawn into a fight with her, despite his best intentions.

He paused in her doorway. She was lying on her side, facing away from him, watching TV. His heart lurched; he had missed her, even though it had only been a week.

"Hey," he said softly.

"Oh, thank God!" she said, sitting up. "If I had to watch one more minute of Cruz and Eden's mating dance, I'd lose my mind." She spoke lightly, but her face betrayed her anxiety.

"Bed rest ain't for sissies, huh?"

"No…I've read every magazine on my coffee table, cover to cover, my mother's been to the library twice, and I'm thinking of taking up palmistry. _Please_ tell me you've brought me some work to do," she said, pointing to the files.

"Yeah, well, I've got a coupla case reports here, and some background information on money laundering for the Brentano case." He handed them to her and went to look out the window. "Oh—and good news on the Winkley case," he said flatly. "The lovers have been reunited…she's offered us $75,000 to cover expenses and cancel the contract."

"Wow…$75,000, huh? That _is_ good news."

"Yep," he replied, still looking at her front lawn. How much longer could he keep up this polite, detached chitchat, when all he wanted to do was shake her and demand WHY? His hands curled themselves into fists; with an effort, he stretched them out, cracking the knuckles.

"David…"

"What? Oh—sorry," he said, waving his fingers at her. "Guess these babies have been a little tense."

"No, it isn't that." She closed the file she had been looking at and patted a spot next to her on the bed. "We need to talk."

He came and sat down. Being so close to her was probably a mistake; in spite of his resentment, he just wanted to run his hands into her hair and kiss her senseless.

She took his hand. Looking down, she said, "I need to tell you something. My doctor in Chicago made a mistake—a big mistake—with my first sonogram."

"I know."

There was silence for a moment. Then, very quietly, she asked, "When did you find out?"

"At the hospital, the other night. When did _you_ find out?"

"A few weeks ago."

He nodded curtly. "I thought so."

"Listen, David, I'm sorry I didn't tell you before—"

"I don't want to have this conversation, Maddie," he said, his mouth set.

She touched his arm, but he shook her off and stood up, walking back to the window. "Please…I need to explain—" she started.

"We'll talk about it later," he interrupted; he was having difficulty keeping his voice level.

"No, David, we'll talk about it now! I've been lying in this bed for a week, trying to figure out how to tell you—I was going to tell you. I was just waiting—"

The dam broke. He turned on her. "Waiting? Waiting for what, Maddie? For the kid to go to kindergarten? Get his driver's license, maybe?"

"I just wanted to be sure—"

"Sure of what? Sure that I'd pass the test?" he asked sarcastically.

Now her voice had an edge too. "What test?"

"You've been testing me for three years, Maddie—I should have the damn Presidential Fitness Award by now—"

"David, I was NOT TESTING YOU!" she shouted. He could see her take a deep breath; lowering her voice, she said, "Look, I know it doesn't seem fair to you—"

"Damn right."

"…but I did have good reasons," she insisted.

He stared at her in disbelief. Did she think that was all that mattered? "When are you going to stop making all the decisions for us, Maddie? He's my son, too--when do _I_ get to be part of the team?"

The door opened, and Virginia came in with glasses of iced tea. She looked from one of them to the other. "Is everything all right? You're not having any pain, Maddie? I thought I heard you shout a minute ago."

Maddie looked down; he could see a tear clinging to her lashes. "No, Mom, I'm fine. We were just…talking."

Guilt assailed him. He needed to get out of there before he said anything he might regret. Making a show of checking his watch, he exclaimed, "Oh, geez, is that the time? I promised Bert I would help him move his collection of spy memorabilia…I'd better run." Brushing a cold kiss across Maddie's cheek, he sped down the stairs and out the door.

*** * ***

Maddie watched his fleeing figure and couldn't hold back the tears any more. Sinking down on her pillow, she sobbed, heedless of the fact that her mother was still standing there, shocked.

"Maddie, what _is_ going on?"

Maddie pressed her fingers to her eyes. "Oh, Mom," she said miserably. "I just don't know if we can make it work."

"You and David?"

She nodded.

Virginia sat down on the bed. "Do you want to tell me about it?" she asked gently.

Maddie had never been in the habit of confiding in her mother. Growing up, she was more of a Daddy's girl; and even when she was in Chicago, she was too muddled and ashamed to tell her mother much of what had happened. But suddenly, Maddie realized, she needed her, needed the benefit of all the wisdom she had acquired during 37 years of marriage and motherhood.

Once she started talking, Maddie found she couldn't stop. She told her mother about Sam, about the train ride, Walter, everything. All about she and David, why she had come to Chicago, and what had happened since she came home.

"Things were going so well—not perfect, but just…_right_. Then I had a doctor's appointment a few weeks ago. She did a sonogram and found out I wasn't as far along as I thought…it meant David had to be the baby's father."

"Weren't you relieved?"

"Mostly...but I was afraid that if I told David, it would upset things somehow—make them too serious, too fast. The doctor said she would do another scan in a few weeks, so I decided to wait until I was sure to tell him. But the other night when we were at the hospital, he found out…he's furious, Mom. He wouldn't even let me explain."

Virginia was quiet for a long minute. Then she looked Maddie in the eyes and said, rather forcefully, "Madolyn, I have tried not to pry, have bit my tongue more times than I can count. I don't know if you want my two cents, but I'm going to give them to you anyway: That man loves you to distraction. He waited for you to come home for more than four months. He has been by your side ever since, waiting for this baby, even when he didn't think it was his."

Maddie felt the truth of this, but it didn't help. She started crying again.

Virginia smoothed back Maddie's hair and went on more softly. "He deserved to be told, honey…no matter what you thought the consequences of telling him were going to be."

"I know, Mom. I know that now," she said, sniffling. She felt depleted, empty.

Her mother took her hands in hers. "You've been on your own for a long time, sweetheart. You're going to have to learn to depend on someone else, to share the control. Raising a child is the most difficult, most wonderful responsibility in this world. David is going to be a terrific father, whether you share your life with him or not. But at least from what I've seen, he would be a damn fine husband if you'd let him."

"Husband? Oh, Mom, we're not ready for that."

"Well, you probably weren't ready for this baby, either—but _he's_ not going to wait for you. Do you love David?"

Maddie smiled ruefully; a fresh tear coursed down her cheek. "I tried so hard not to…but it didn't work. Yes, I love him. So what should I do?" She put her head on her mother's shoulder.

"I wish I had an answer for you, Maddie. But I know you'll figure it out."

Maddie sat still in her mother's arms for a long time, wondering why so many of her decisions came back to haunt her in the end.

*** * ***

The phone rang, startling David out of a dream in which he and Maddie were trying to tame a leopard cub. "Where is that damn bone?" he cried. Sitting up, he realized where he was and grabbed for the handset.

"David? It's me. Did I wake you? It's only 11:00."

"Maddie?" His heart started to race. "Are you OK? Having contractions? Don't worry, I'm on—"

"David," she interrupted. "I'm fine, the baby's fine. I'm sorry I woke you…I just couldn't sleep. I…needed to hear your voice."

"O-K," he said slowly, lying back down. "What did you want to hear? I haven't brushed up on my lullabies yet."

There was silence on the line for a minute. Then—"I made a mistake, David. I should have told you right away. I'm sorry."

Two little words…but he knew they were hard for her to say. Still, it didn't change what had happened—and how many more of these "mistakes" could he be expected to forgive?

He tried to keep his voice steady, though he could feel his frustration building. "I just don't understand _why_, Maddie." Earlier, he had cut her off; this time, he decided, he would see if she had an explanation.

"Everything between us was so new—well, not _new_, exactly, but…I was afraid…afraid that it would change things. And the doctor wasn't completely sure...I didn't want to get our hopes up…It made sense to me at the time," she finished, rather meekly.

"The infamous Hayes logic," he replied. Her reference to "_our_ hopes" mollified him just a little. He sat up again, resting his elbows on his knees. "Listen, Maddie, if this is ever going to work, you're going to have to trust me—and not just with the keys to the car, know what I mean?"

"If?" she whispered.

"This was a big deal to me," he said roughly. "You're gonna have to give me some time."

"You mean—wait?"

"Try it…maybe you'll like it." He thought of her, alone in the bed, with their baby moving inside her, and his voice softened. "Now, young lady, I want you to put your head on that pillow and go to sleep. Wait a sec—put the phone so Junior can hear."

Then he sang:

When the night has come  
And the land is dark  
And the moon is the only light we'll see  
No, I won't be afraid, no I won't be afraid  
Just as long as you stand, stand by me

Darlin', darlin', stand by me  
Oh, stand by me  
Stand by me  
Stand by me

If the sky that we look upon  
Should tumble and fall  
And the mountains should crumble to the sea  
I won't cry, I won't cry, no, I won't shed a tear  
Just as long as you stand, stand by me

*** * ***

Song Credit:

"Stand By Me"…Sam Cooke


	9. Week Eight: Your Birthing Team

**Week Eight: Your Birthing Team**

Maddie sat at her desk a week later. She had finally received the all-clear from Dr. Dale that afternoon, just in time for the last Lamaze class that night. She was so eager to get back to "normal" life that she came directly to the office from the clinic. Expecting to find mountains of paperwork on her desk, she had been reorganizing her Rolodex for the last hour, waiting.

She hadn't spoken to David since that night on the phone. She was trying to give him his space, to be respectful of the fact that he needed time. It was the only thing she could do, she thought. In hindsight, she fully understood what a stupid, stupid choice she had made; she cursed her need to be in the driver's seat, to orchestrate their relationship for the minimum amount of risk—to her heart and to her life. This whole parenting business, she realized, was going to require something she wasn't very good at: a leap of faith. David had done more jumping than the lords in the Christmas song, and she wanted him to hold her hand as they went over the cliff—together.

She hoped he would still be willing. She knew she owed him more than an apology…she owed him a promise that things would be different. After several days of berating herself, she thought of something she could do, one small olive branch she could offer. If he accepted it, they could move forward; if not, she would have to wait.

And she would keep on waiting, for as long as it took.

Finally, she heard the outer office door open. Flipping off her light, she listened to David go into his office and shut the door. She turned the light back on, got up, and stretched. The baby gave her a quick jab in the ribs in response.

Why was she so nervous?

She went in the bathroom, checked her hair and makeup. This was absurd—she wasn't a teenager going on her first date. Resolutely, she jammed the hat on her head, walked out of her office, and knocked lightly on David's door.

* * *

David walked into his office and turned on the light. He was picking Maddie up for Lamaze in an hour; he had just enough time to return some calls and pick up a few files.

He noticed the postcard first, a night shot of the Eiffel Tower all lit up. On the back was written, in a loopy scrawl: "Dear Mr. Addison, We're having a totally awesome time. Thanks, like, so much! Love, Misty and Lance." All the i's were dotted with hearts.

David chuckled at the thought of Misty inflicting her Valley girl slang on the French. Still, she and Lance had managed to navigate the tricky waters of trust and betrayal more easily than he and Maddie had. Maybe it was the innate optimism of youth…or maybe the deeper the water, the stronger the current.

He tossed the postcard into a drawer…and then he saw it.

A flat white box sat on his desk. There was a note on top; it read: "Coach—Hope you're ready to get back in the game. Your star player needs you…and so does his mom. We love you. M + ?"

Inside, he found a tiny Philadelphia Phillies shirt and cap. Lifting it out, he realized there was more: a matching adult-sized jersey and hat.

David shook his head and smiled in spite of himself. She knew him—knew what he loved, what was important to him. And he had missed her these last two weeks, more than he thought possible, more even than when she was in Chicago…somehow, thinking of her just across town was worse than thinking of her two thousand miles away. He lay in bed every night, wondering what she was doing, if she was sleeping, if she was all right, though he knew Virginia would call him if anything drastic happened.

She had screwed up: no two ways about it. She had made him feel unimportant and unworthy…or had she? Had she just called up feelings that were already there? He supposed that it wasn't just about her trusting him—it was also about trusting _himself_ enough to fight for what he thought was right. He could've told her exactly how he felt about her before Sam, before Walter, before everything…he could've gone to Chicago, could've tried, at least, to plead his case…

They were _never_ going to get to a place where everything was perfect; they were both going to make mistakes. The important thing was to keep moving forward, to keep breathing—together. At the end of the day, he still wanted her to be the one to throw that first clump of dirt.

He had taken off his dress shirt and was buttoning up the jersey when he heard the knock. Maddie stood in his doorway, dressed in a red sweater and white leggings; on her head was a Phillies hat that matched his.

He threw her a half-smile. "Baseball looks good on you."

"Yeah, well," she said in mock resignation. "I guess it's never too early to start."

He brought the little shirt over to her; draping it across her belly, he said, "Yep, looks like it fits perfectly."

"Ouch!" she exclaimed as the baby kicked her again.

"Look at that…he just can't wait to get out on the field."

"Do you know I've never even been to a baseball game?" she said.

David slowly slid his arms around her; he held her close for a minute, and then leaned back to look at her. Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears. "I can give you a quick overview," he murmured. "For starters, there are three bases: first…" He kissed her. "Second—" His lips traced a path down her neck.

"David, I'm not sure where this is going, but—"

"I'd be happy to show you," he replied, leading her to the couch.

* * *

"OK, everyone, this is our last class. We'll spend a little time practicing our breathing, and then take a tour of the hospital facilities. You'll see some of the folks who will be helping you with your birth, and we may even get a peek inside the nursery!"

"Awwww," Stan said, rubbing Laura's stomach. Maddie stifled a giggle as David mimicked Stan's lovesick look.

Angela raised her hand. "Will they be showing us where the anesthesiologist's office is?"

Nurse Bridges smiled. "The anesthesiologists don't have an office in the labor and delivery ward…but don't worry, Angela, there's always one on call."

"Can we get his direct number?" asked Rick hopefully.

Everyone laughed. Maddie looked around and wondered at the sense of camaraderie that had developed over the last eight weeks. These were not people she would have chosen to spend a lot of time with, but they had shared a very special experience in this class. She would actually miss them—even Mel, she thought, as she watched the big man gently guide his wife to the floor so they could practice their breathing.

Later, they stood in front of the nursery window, looking at the rows of newborns snugly ensconced in their plastic bassinets. "Green or blue?" Maddie asked David.

"What?" he said absently, covering his eye with an ice pack. He had been unable to resist pushing a button on one of the delivery beds; a stirrup had flown up and smacked him in the face.

"His eyes—do you think they'll be green or blue?"

"Oh, blue, definitely. If personality is anything to go by, I'm pretty sure your genes knocked mine out in the first round." She gave him a playful push as he said, "I hope he's left-handed, though."

"Really? Why?"

"Well, your southpaw pitchers can be very, very valuable." He put an arm around her, and they turned to follow the rest of the class down the hallway.

Maddie protested. "But what if he wants to play the violin? Paint? Be class president?"

David shrugged. "Oh, he can do all that stuff, too…as long as it doesn't interfere with—"

"—baseball practice," they said together.

* * *

Stay tuned…there's an epilogue! ;)


	10. Epilogue: Six Weeks Later

**Epilogue: Six Weeks Later**

"Push, Maddie!"

"No, wait—don't let her push yet!" instructed the nurse, who went running for Dr. Weed.

"Don't push, Maddie! C'mon, short panting breaths, he he he he…" David demonstrated.

Maddie grabbed his shirt and pulled his face very close to hers. "David Addison, if you EVER do this to me again, I will KILL you!" she screamed.

"You're killin' me _now_," he muttered, loosening his tie so he could breathe again. Then he kissed her damp hair. "You're doing great, Maddie…we're almost there."

His voice faded from her consciousness as another pain gripped her, and with it an inexorable urge to get this baby OUT. Fortunately, Dr. Weed ran in at that moment; she took one look at Maddie and said—

"She's ready. Go ahead, Maddie—push!"

David watched in awe as she brought all her considerable strength to bear. It seemed like everything they had ever done or been to each other had led up to this moment: all the banter, all the flirting, the fights, the fear and insecurity and anger…and the answering passion and love that were at the root of it all. All of it had somehow gotten them here, now, exactly where they needed to be.

Then he heard his son cry for the first time, and the world shrunk to the sound of that tiny voice.

"He's perfect," the doctor said, laying the baby on Maddie's chest. She took her first look at the red, scrunched-up face, the legs kicking, the tiny hands balled into fists, and thought her heart might explode.

They whisked him away to weigh him and clean him up. She looked at David. Two tears ran silently down his face. Their eyes met, and her heart turned over again. This man—this man who drove her crazy, who never let her get away with anything—had helped her make a miracle, had not only been at the right place, at the right time, but had shared every step of this journey with her...even when they were apart.

She took a deep breath. "David…will you—"

Just then, they brought the baby back and settled him in her arms. His little face peeked out between a swaddling blanket and a blue knit cap. He opened his eyes and blinked up at them.

"It's unbelievable," David breathed. "He looks exactly like—"

"Richie," they both said. They looked at each other again and burst out laughing, with relief and pride and a shared sense of history.

"Does he have a name yet?" the nurse asked.

"Charles," announced Maddie definitely.  
"Sandy," said David, with confidence.

"What?" they both cried.

Maddie exclaimed, "Sandy…what kind of a name is Sandy? Sandy Hayes? He sounds like an umbrella cocktail—I don't know why I should be surprised…Charles is a good, practical name—it was my grandfather's!"

Meanwhile, David argued, "Charles? Great, Maddie—how many times a week do you want the kid getting beat up? Now, Sandy—there's a great name, an inspirational name! One of the best pitchers of all time—and a lefty, too!"

The child in question watched them for a moment, then closed his eyes and nestled into his mother, understanding somehow that this was the way things were meant to be.

All was right in his little world.

**THE END  
(for now)**

* * *

Whew...writing this story was quite a journey for me: it started out as a little idea, and just kept growing. At the end of Season 4, I felt that there were so many unanswered questions and unexplored motivations, and I couldn't seem to stop until I had examined every one. I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS:

This story could not have existed in its current incarnation without the support and encouragement of the following folks. To all of them, I say a very heartfelt THANK YOU!!

To my Moonlighting friends over on the message board, for welcoming me into the fold and giving great feedback: you guys rock!

To Julia, for thoughtful responses and sharing the "essedness" (and, mmm, I can smell the butter tarts from here!);

To Chiara, for constant cheerleading, instant medical consulting, and unstinting generosity with the smileys;

To Connie, for critical beta-reading, super suggestions, and a huge heart :);

To Laura, for being a terrific long-distance writing friend, idea-bouncer-offer, and beta;

To HB, for taking the journey with me; and finally,

To my boys, for teaching me what it means to be a mom.


End file.
